


Intertwined

by FriendlyNonMurderingSort



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Bad self-care habits, FOXHOUND days, M/M, Pre established relationship, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyNonMurderingSort/pseuds/FriendlyNonMurderingSort
Summary: Kazuhira Miller has been working in FOXHOUND for a short while, but has only just received his new prosthetics. The feeling is unfamiliar to him. What better way to test out the capabilities of the metal limbs than to hit the gym? Things go awry, and someone he wasn't expecting is there to see him through the hard times.--A quick birthday gift for SailorStarDust!





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SailorStarDust1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorStarDust1/gifts).



> A birthday present for the one and only SailorStarDust. You've done so much for me and have been so positive with everything and are just a really awesome person to talk to, I thought I'd repay the kindness.

Kaz sucked in a sharp breath as he massaged the angry, irritated skin around the metal of his prosthetic. The remaining nerves in his shoulder screamed at him as he flexed the metal fingers. He clenched his hand into a fist, and then stretched his fingers wide. Clenched his hand into a fist, and stretched his fingers wide. The process repeated for as long as he could bear it until the pain in his shoulder began to overtake the entire right side of his chest. 

Kaz let his arm drop heavily at his side. The weight of the damn thing didn’t help him at all. He was assured that it was as sleek and as weightless as prosthetics of that caliber could be. If it was true, Kaz pitied Venom Snake and his older, clunkier prosthetic.

He continued to rub at the angry red skin at the point where metal met flesh on his shoulder. He had gotten out of surgery three days ago, had roused himself from the anesthetics shortly after, and dismissed himself from the hospital wing on his own orders. Protests of staying for therapy and preliminary tests flew in one ear and out the other as Kaz determinedly made his way back to his quarters.

Walking with two legs again was an entirely new experience. He had gotten used to the cheap, bare minimum prosthetic that he could remove whenever he felt like. This one was permanent, and having a structure that was nothing other than a _foot_ , no matter how Kaz looked at it, was bizarre. The metal filled his boot with ease, and he didn’t even feel the chafing of the unbroken leather against his ankle or his toes. 

Kaz glanced down at said foot and wiggled the new, shiny toes. They responded so easily to his touch that if it weren’t for the gleaming silver, he could have believed that they were the toes he was born with. Kaz curled his foot, watching the slim metal plates slide to accommodate the movement. The clicking as they aligned perfectly together was fascinating. 

Kaz winced when his fingers, still absentmindedly massaging his shoulder, brushed across a spot that was tender from the surgery. He looked at the offending spot and saw a bright red glob of blood pushing forward. Kaz frowned. Was it something to be concerned about? He had no idea. Maybe if he had stayed and listened to a single doctor’s instructions, he might have known. But Kaz was nothing if not stubborn to the end. He could deal with this on his own.

He was honestly amazed that a doctor hadn’t squirreled him out yet. He had been left alone in blissful silence for three days. He hadn’t heard a peep from doctors or from the big man himself that convinced—no, it was a little closer to forced—Kaz to get out of his misery and get some damn prosthetics so that he could be the man he once was.

Kaz scoffed. Prosthetics didn’t make him anything like what he used to be.

 _Although_ , Kaz thought, moving his metal fingers in a wave-like motion from pinky to index and back to pinky, _it might be nice to test these out. See what they can really do._

That idea sounded better to Kaz than anything had in a long time. If he was going to be stuck with new metal limbs, he might as well learn their limits. How was he going to train recruits if he didn’t get to work on using his new arm and leg right away?

A quick change and half-stumbled walk later, Kaz found himself in the FOXHOUND gymnasium. It was spacious and blessedly empty at this time of night. Only a maniac wanted to be training at—Kaz furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at the digital clock on the side of the gymnasium, he had no idea _what_ time it was—one in the morning. Kaz shrugged. He had pulled many all-nighters in his past. Having one that wasn’t centered around paperwork sounded heavenly. 

Kaz made his way over to one of the heavy punching bags that hung from the ceiling of the gym, lining himself up in front of it. He pulled a band from his pocket just before starting and tied back what he could of his hair. It was starting to get too long, even for his tastes, but he couldn’t find the time in a day to get it cut. That, and, he found himself drawn to the way he looked with longer hair. If he moved it out of his face in _just_ the right way, it almost looked like the blond version of a mullet-donned ragamuffin that he knew.

The bionic arm easily held itself up, but the muscles on the right side of Kaz’s chest were unhappy with the weight placed upon them. The tear in his skin was also unhappy, dribbling blood once again from the extra movement. Kaz brushed it aside to deal with later.

Hair out of his face, for the most part, Kaz drew himself back into a fighting stance. It was euphoric to slide his feet apart and not have to worry about his balance. The stance came easily to him, even after years that left him unable to practice.

He switched how he stood once or twice, unable to decide if it would be better to use his left or his right hand to strike. He had been using his left hand for so long now; it seemed like the natural choice. However, the entire goal of this little mission of his was to test out his new prosthetics. What good would it do him if he stuck to what he knew? 

Too lost in his thoughts, debating over left versus right, the squeaking of leather faded into the background.

Kaz shook himself once, loosening his shoulders one last time. It had to be the right hand. If he used his left, he’d be giving in. To what, Kaz wasn’t certain, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to give into anything if he could help it.

Kaz wound back his arm, and _God_ what a glorious feeling that was. Kaz’s right arm was fast; he knew that he didn’t quite have the fine motor skills down just yet. It would be a while before he’d be able to grab a pen and write with it in his right hand, let alone legibly, but he figured he could nail a punch. 

Kaz’s fist sank into the tight vinyl. He had half a second to bask in the overwhelming joy of actually punching something, ready to let out the pent-up rage of years gone by, before pain arced through his body like a lightning bolt.

His entire body tensed up, metal and flesh alike. Kaz’s jaw dropped at the explosion of pain, focused entirely on his shoulder, before he dropped to his knees, unable to help it. The pain was all-encompassing, but in a way that Kaz wasn’t sure he had ever felt before. Everything in his body was contracting, attempting to shield itself from the onslaught of metal and wiring and whatever the _hell_ else was in his arm shoving into bone and muscle and skin in a way that made Kaz wish he were dead a hundred times over.

Kaz doubled over and caught himself on his hands before his face smacked into the mat, despite knowing it wouldn’t have done him any harm to fall. The catch renewed the pain in both his shoulder and knee and Kaz dropped without a second thought.

 

“Come on, sit up,” a gruff voice muttered.

Kaz’s head was alight with the worst headache he was sure he’d ever had. It was nothing compared to the way his body felt. If someone told him an eighteen-wheeler was parked on him, he would have believed it in a heartbeat. It hurt just to breathe.

He felt his body being adjusted against warm leather. Kaz let himself sink into the heat of the voice behind him. He got a little chuckle in response to his pliancy.

“You’re acting like a kitten,” the voice rumbled. There was something in the teasing tone that made Kaz want to lash out, but he couldn’t find the energy. “As boneless as a noodle,” the mocking continued.

Kaz found the strength to growl in response. He wasn’t sure if he meant to say words or not, but they didn’t come out of him. 

“Here, drink some water.”

The cold rim of a bottle pressed to Kaz’s lips, and he greedily guzzled the water that poured from it. He wanted to protest when the water was drawn away from him, but his voice still felt too small to argue.

“Look at you,” the voice said with a heavy sigh. “Heard you slipped out of the hospital before anybody could look you over for more than two seconds. Have you even taken any of the pain meds you’re supposed to be taking?”

Kaz lazily shook his head from side to side. Like hell he was going to take pain meds. He hadn’t needed any before, and he certainly didn’t need any now. The voice sighed again.

As his senses came back to him, Kaz began to put the pieces together until things began to make sense once more. He was lying on the blue mat beneath the punching bag, which was still swinging to and fro. He was propped up against something that felt distinctly like a body. Hands were on his own body. One at his waist, and the other at the junction of where his real body met the newer, faker piece of his body. 

The fingers at the point of skin and metal, while alarming, were soothing all the same. They pressed against his skin in all the right ways to make the world of pain Kaz was in dwindle into nothing. When his shoulder was all but jelly, the hand moved on to massage along his collarbone and down his chest. 

Kaz wanted, once again, to protest, but the touch was far too comforting to knock away.

“If it weren’t for you knocking yourself unconscious, I’m amazed at how well this went,” the voice mused.

Kaz craned his neck back, attempting to see the face that came with the voice. He was sure that he recognized it, and there was an inkling of fear in his chest that wanted to consume his entire body. He had heard something so similar—but never _quite_ right—to that voice for so long, he lost all sense of where he was for a long time.

“I was expecting to be knocked flat on my ass, maybe yelled at,” the man chuckled.

His hair was longer, and distinctly gray along his temples. The same gray was in his beard, but it only made Kaz’s heart pound that much harder in his chest. If it weren’t for the way that his body felt almost entirely useless in the man’s lap, Kaz would have scrambled away and punched him square in his beautifully straight nose. 

Kaz floundered for words, much like a fish out of water. What was one meant to say when put in this situation?

“Earth to Kaz,” Big Boss teased. 

That’s when it hit Kaz. Hearing his name from that man, in his voice, made it all so much more real than it had been a few moments ago. Kaz jerked away from Big Boss, twisting out of his lap like a mouse that had been given a second’s relief from the crushing grip of a python. 

Kaz’s body was unhappy with him, but he needed to see the man to make sure that it was him. 

And it _was_ him. 

Kaz knew when he joined FOXHOUND, but he had never seen Big Boss. He hadn’t gotten close to the man, and that made it all the more aggravating to Kaz. Kaz wanted to hate him. He was holding onto the last, desperate threads of hate that held him together for so long. 

He stared at Big Boss, unable to look away from the bright blue of his eye. He wound his finger into the last thread, clutching on for some lifeline that would keep him grounded. Kaz hated this man. He hated Big Boss and everything he stood for. 

Big Boss cracked a smile at Kaz, one that had only one corner of his lips turning up; it was the kind of smile from a man that was so used to holding something in the other end of his mouth and smiling around it. 

The thread slipped from Kaz’s grasp as he sat on the blue mat. He continued to stare at Big Boss, but he felt as though the ground was slipping out from under him. He was falling backward, into a spiraling pit that seemed to have no end in sight. 

Before Kaz could tip backward off the edge, hands reached out and grabbed him. Clad in leather gloves, the hands pressed to his cheeks. Thumbs swiped back and forth over his cheekbones, drawing him back into reality.

Kaz let out a shuddering breath as he stared at the man in front of him. Snake was closer now, probably sensing his distress. Living with a man in such close quarters for so long, to the point that they were more than co-workers, and even more than friends—Kaz didn’t dare call Snake his _lover_ , but he sure as Hell wanted to—gave them that _ability_ to know when the other was upset. Kaz always wore his heart on his sleeve, so it couldn’t have been that hard for Snake to tell that he was distressed, but knowing that someone was there and reading the signs and ready to comfort him before he collapsed meant the world to Kaz. 

Snake’s lips were moving, most likely saying something to Kaz, but Kaz’s ears were as useful as they would be if he were underwater. He heard the grumble in Snake’s voice, made more prominent with age, but he knew that it was just as warm as that day on the beach together. 

Kaz hooked his hands onto Snake’s shoulders and drew the man in without a second thought. A brief flash of surprise passed over Snake’s features, Kaz inwardly smirked at his ability to surprise Snake even after so many years.

Their mouths crashed together. It was uncomfortable and borderline awkward, like drunk teenagers making out in the dark, but Kaz needed it. 

Snake was the first to back off, but when Kaz leaned in after him, Snake wasn’t one to deny him. Snake pressed against Kaz, tilting his head and using his hold on Kaz’s face to make him do the same. Their lips slotted together with an ease and familiarity that spoke nothing of the decade, and then some spent away from each other. 

Snake’s lips were chapped, just as Kaz remembered, and his beard was wiry and irritating in the best way against his chin. Kaz had stubble of his own since he never bothered to do anything about it, but it was nothing compared to Snake’s.

His hand trailed up from Snake’s shoulders, mapping out the hard muscle beneath his black leather jacket. Kaz spared a moment to wonder just how the damn thing was in such good condition after so many years. His fingers danced across Snake’s neck, but Snake showed no signs of stopping him.

Kaz, though the temptation was there from years long gone, moved his hands from Snake’s neck and to the back of his head. His fingers sought out the ponytail he had become so familiar with but found nothing. He raked his fingers, being somewhat gentler with the metal ones, through Snake’s hair.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours until they both had to pull back for breath. 

Kaz grabbed the hair at the nape of Snake’s neck, refusing him from moving farther away. The tips of their noses were close enough together to brush as they recovered their breath, panting heavily. Kaz might have been concerned about bad breath after a long day, but Snake didn’t say anything about it if he minded.

When Kaz’s shoulder began to scream at him from holding his metal arm up for so long, Kaz dropped his hand from the back of Snake’s neck. He stared down at their laps, unsure if he would be able to look at Snake. There was always the possibility that the punching bag had come back and hit him in the face so hard that this was all a beautifully realistic dream.

If it was, Kaz didn’t want to wake up.

“Still in there?” Snake teased. Kaz could hear the grin in his voice; the way he let a borderline smirk bleed into his words when he was too pleased to stop the emotions coming through. “I didn’t realize you graduated from C.O. to space cadet.”

Kaz blinked. He furrowed his brows at their laps before he whipped his head up to give Snake an incredulous stare.

“Are you kidding me?” Kaz guffawed. “Are you making jokes right now?”

“You looked like you could use it.” Snake argued. “If it weren’t for the fact that I’d caught you, I’d be afraid that you hit your head on the way down,” he teased.

Kaz clenched his jaw. He looked at Snake, scanning his face up and down. 

“It _feels_ like I hit my head,” Kaz said. “None of this feels real,” Kaz admitted. “Like it’s a dream; that I’m somewhere else.”

“It’s real, I promise,” Snake said with a grin. Even in a situation that was serious, he wasn’t the most tactful when it came from transitioning from play to work. “I can kiss you again if that would help.”

Kaz barked out a laugh. “Another kiss does sound nice.”

With all the eagerness of a man that shouldn’t have been as old as he was, Snake pressed his lips to Kaz’s. 

Kaz was the one to break it that time. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around Snake’s chest and drew himself into the warmth that his body offered. Kaz tucked his nose against Snake’s neck, breathing in a cologne that was certainly new since Kaz had last interacted with the man. Since when did Snake wear cologne in the first place? Out in the jungles, he would have argued against even deodorant when on a mission—any smell could give him away to the enemy. 

Snake’s hand found Kaz’s back, and he rubbed at him through the thin, sweaty, bloody tank top he was wearing. Tucked against Snake’s body, as safe as could be, Kaz found that the pain in his shoulder and back didn’t matter anymore.

“Could you… say my name again?” Kaz asked.

He felt the way Snake’s head twitched to the side, a habit that Kaz was familiar with. He was so glad that it hadn’t vanished over the years. It always reminded Kaz of a dog that heard something they didn’t quite understand, but that was trying its best to comprehend. Dare Kaz say it; it was _cute_ when Snake did it.

“And not just… a nickname. My name,” Kaz repeated.

Snake shuffled a little bit, still pondering Kaz’s request.

He wasn’t one to keep somebody waiting. “Kazuhira Miller,” he said. One of his hands came up to stroke at the back of Kaz’s head, parting clumped, sweaty locks of hair with his fingers. “Kazuhira Miller,” he repeated, punctuated with a kiss to the top of Kaz’s head.

Kaz breathed out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t realized had been in his chest for so long it was nearly painful when he let go of it. He melted against Snake’s body, his arms winding around him a little tighter. He could feel the skin tearing once more where it joined his metal arm, but that was a matter for another time. 

“I missed you, Snake.”

**Author's Note:**

> How do other people write consistent summaries? I don't even know.


End file.
